The Collapse
by Charan-Amaya
Summary: Based on the Fall of the Soviet Union Hetalia'd . The weakness creeped inside, slowly it consumed until his body could no longer stand. He fell from the glorified pillar he had once stood, all the way down to the ground. No own Hetalia


(AN: I don't own Hetalia or anything about Hetalia or anything in this, blah, blah. Also, I'm using Katsy for Ukraine, kay? Since I haven't seen an official name for her, and Natalya is for Belarus instead of Natalia, or Natasha.)

* * *

_**The Collapse**_

* * *

It seemed everyone knew it was coming. He had been fine for years, decades, yet recently he had become weaker and weaker. The heart that fell out was starting to pain him from time to time. That damn thing in his chest wouldn't stop pounding so horridly he thought he'd… keel over.

Yet the days so far had been pleasant, filled with everyone in his large house. All of them were gathered together and living pretty happily—it was nice. Gilbert, Natalia, Katsy, Raivis, Toris, Eduard, and others had been there, the mansion full of bustling life of cultures, love… so much was there in that nice house deep within Russia. He had been, well, as happy as he had ever been, he guessed.

Ivan's violet eyes sparkled somewhat as he walked into the living room; Raivis and Belarus were reading a book together. It seemed Toris was once more cleaning here and there, Eduard buried in some sort of informational manual on the telecommunication technology (he had always been brainy), and his elder sister Katsy was once more in his vodka. She was overly fond of the drink, after all. Not that he minded too much, she was the eldest.

It seemed nice, pleasant. Even if some of the expressions he got… well… it wasn't the best. He wasn't too fond of the strange vibe Belarus gave him, yet he let it slide. The paperwork for all of them was done for the day, so there was free time (that wasn't being taken up by his arguments with Alfred and others) to spend with his 'family'.

A few quiet steps were taken, the usual chair opened for him to sit. A soft sound, he relaxed, just watching them 'enjoy' themselves. This little dream world could last forever, right? He really wished it would. Ivan could go on for an eternity like this after all, he honestly wish he could. Though, that pain in his chest sparked once again.

Assuming he needed vodka, the male stood from his throne. Lithuania looked up at him with what were his usual worry-filled eyes. Russia actually waved his hand to turn the question down, he was fine. It was just a thing about getting old, you know, he was getting old these days, wasn't he? Heh, it was just because of the life around… being such a feared nation took its toll on the body after all. Such thoughts filled the man's head as he entered the kitchen, a bottle of vodka retrieved.

Traversing into the living room, he held the large bottle in hand, with all intentions to go back to his chair and drink the night away as he watched his little family gathered together in that room before the fire. The lovely old rugs laid upon the floors, the wood of many years holding firm below their weight, with friendly creeks of old greetings as each step was taken. The walls, decorated with pictures of the dead, and portraits of the beloved Romanovs that the Russian had loved so dearly. The interior of this mansion was both simplistic and extravagant depending on the area, it just… that was how it was. This house was old and some of it somewhat new. Memories filled these halls, both good and bad. Death, also, was behind some closed doors.

Though, he was still happy here. Dreams, those dreams he had so dear to his heart were not realized as of now—they would be one day.

It was a typical evening. It should be one.

Suddenly eyes went wide, a hand clutching his chest through the fabric of his tan-colored jacket. Eyes wide, there it was again. That pain—that horrid pain shot through his chest, the nerves in his mind on fire. Everything started to spin, black started to hold at the edge of his mind. Everything started to fade as his body gave out. He crumpled through the floor, without doubts that scream were his own. That cry of absolute terror came from his lips; the last thing he knew was a panicked scurry of people around him—then all went black.

* * *

He didn't know how long it had been, but it was… Dark. Everything was dark, dark and cold. The pain still ebbed in his chest, but nothing compared to what had happened… whenever he had that… thing? Whatever it was, hopefully it wouldn't come again. Though, where was everyone? There was no one around him. The ground… it was the floor he had fallen on, right? Was he where he had fallen? A weak arm moved, reaching into a pocket. A few rummages, and a lighter was taken out.

Ivan… was surprised at how long this took. He had never felt so weak before, why now? His arm was barely moving; it took so long to actually light it, and give some illumination too! Yes, this was his house. The sharp glares and contrasts of the faces of those he had lost looked at him with such dead-painted eyes. He was home, he had collapsed. Russia knew the basics.

Yet, where was everyone? The fire was definitely long dead, he could tell by this distance. Though, there was the panic again, screaming in his head.

_Find them!_

Struggling to his feet, the large Russian stumbled around as he first went to the fire. A few logs kicked in, the kerosene applied. The room lit up—a roaring flame shone brightly. No one was there.

An old torch taken into hand, Ivan started to stumble through the large house, checking all the rooms he could manage—looking for his family. Where did his family go? Were they alright? He had been weak, a moment of weakness. They might've hid somewhere in the house, thinking he was playing a game? Yes, that's right, that's probably what happened. There was a perfectly logical explanation for why they weren't there! That's right!

He continued searching, when catching enough air he called a name or two in a voice that didn't sound like his own. It was too hoarse, too. This was just a terrible dream he'd wake from soon enough, the Russian knew it had to be something like this! Just a nightmare, like the others'. It wasn't real, there was no way this terrible thing was real!

Continuing his tripping, stumbling, clumsy stroll through the house, there was not a soul in sight. It was as if no one had ever existed. The once full rooms that each of them had occupied were empty; all except his own. Had anyone been here in the first place? Was he just dreaming all of those times before, had he dreamed those many years? It seemed that perhaps he was more insane than everyone thought—years and years of fantasies… that wasn't normal at all, was it?

It wasn't a dream! It couldn't have been! Grasping his overcoat, where he remembered leaving it, and grasping his gun, the Russian barged into the snow without a second thought. What if they had gotten kidnapped? It was completely possible! He had to find them; he just had to get them! He ran blindly into the swirling winter, calling out as he once more stumbled and stuttered his way around. They had to be somewhere! They had to be!

Hours passed in the snow, he lost feeling in his appendages several hours before that point. It was hopeless; whatever tracks and evidence had been there was gone, and he was completely alone in the snow. Not even General Winter was around… So, with a few glances around, and frozen paths on his cheeks, he made the trip home.

The man collapsed, once the door was shut.

* * *

Once more he had woken, pressed against that friendly wooden floor that was now like a cruel devil laughing at him as he limped through the desolate house. It finally hit him, everything had.

_They left me…_

_They abandoned me, when I collapsed…_

_They left me to die…_

_**They wanted me to die.**_

Thoughts like these started, as he lit one fireplace after the other within this large mansion. Every single fire burned. It may have warmed the house, but it didn't warm that aching pain… The one that wouldn't stop! It just wouldn't stop aching and throbbing inside him, this gnawing feeling that had consumed him since he had opened his eyes from that… Heart attack? Perhaps that's what it was. He hadn't died from it, he had survived.

Before the fire in that once happy room, he fell to his knees as tears streamed down his cheeks. He cried, wept bitterly before those taunting flames—it was unbearable.

This heart that pained him, this thing that he could not help but despise with all of his being. A hand shoved inside his chest; and he threw that still-beating heart into the flames, to be consumed by it, destroyed. He'd never need that thing again.

So there he collapsed once more in his exhaustion, a thumping still coming. He hadn't succeeded, Russia's heart still beat. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

_Why did they leave? Why am I all alone, once more?_


End file.
